Thank you so much of hosting me today, and letting me share a little bit of The Contract, my Romance on the Go story from Evernight Publishing.
I'm fascinated by how we react to certain people without any conscious thought. How some people can be really pleasant, and we can chat away to them and feel no real connection, and others…wham.
I enjoy setting stories in places I love.
Oh and I do love a bit of conflict.
So, take a warm place in the sun, in this case Barbados. A hot bod hero, in this case called Rhuari, an independent take no prisoners heroine called Nikki. Oh and a conflict over…A Contract.
Walking out of her job was the best thing Nikki Plummer ever did. What she didn't expect however, was to be tracked down by some hot bod, claiming she owed him.
Ruari Cameron has come to collect what he has paid for, but one look at Nikki, and there's only one thing he wants. Her in every facet of his life.
Of course convincing Nikki of this might take some doing...but he's more than ready to rise to the occasion.
Will they find their happy ever after under the Barbados sun?
A wee tease…
"Hey girl you had a visitor." Kenna, her next door but one neighbor leaned out of a window, and winked. "He's gone but said if I saw you to say he'll be back later. If you don't want him send him my way will you? Hawt." She rolled her eyes. "You been holding out on us? Hot hunk like that hidden in your closet?" Kenna roared with laughter. "Fill me in, girlfriend, who is he?"
Hot hunk? I don't know any hot hunks, do I? No way could she count any book boyfriends.
"No idea, but if you see him around and I don’t appear for a day or so it's either hot sex going on, or I'm dead. I like daisies, and you can sing ‘All Things Bright and Beautiful’ over my coffin."
"The little death maybe?" Kenna guffawed. She had the dirtiest laugh Nikki had ever heard.
"I should be so lucky. Ah well, I guess I can dream." Nikki sketched a wave and walked the last few yards to her gate and punched in the security code to allow her access. With hindsight, she wished she'd asked Kenna to describe the guy. Ah well he'd either come back or he wouldn't. Nevertheless, a hot guy looking for her? That'd be right.
Maybe he wanted to avail himself of her talents? The stupid phraseology made her giggle as she unlocked her door and let herself into the cool kitchen. And maybe not. But there was no use speculating. Mr. Whoeverhewas probably had the wrong house, wanted Chestnut Avenue B instead of A. The street names were confusing. Or was looking for Marlena and Chester who used to own the property.
Instead of thinking about it, Nikki changed into a bikini, and dived into the pool, mindful that if he did come back it would be easier to answer the intercom and if necessary let him in, if she wasn't skinny-dipping. Of course she knew it would be easier still if she stayed fully clothed just in case, but blow that. It was hot, she was sticky, and she'd been looking forward to her swim for the past five hours.
The water was like a cool caress after the heat of the afternoon sun. Nikki kicked off the bottom, surfaced and did a leisurely, classy crawl from one end of the pool to the other. A decent sized pool had been one of her priorities when she went house hunting here, along with aircon, and a spare room to work in. Acorn Villa, this traditional one story house, fit every specification and more. She loved it.
Nikki jumped as high as she could and sank under the water again. Life was brilliant. Crappy bosses and commuting were a not-so-fond memory. For the sheer hell of it, Nikki laughed as she surfaced, shook her long brunette hair—now with sun-kissed streaks in it—out of her eyes…
The sun had gone, the air felt cooler.
The guy who stood towering over her at the edge of the pool with his shadow long enough to shade the area, exuded menace.
Hot, sex on legs, menace.
Did you like it?
And a wee bit about me…
Well what can I say?
I'm growing old disgracefully and loving it.
Dh and I live on the edge of a Scottish forest, and rattle around in a house much too big for us.
Our kids have grown up and flown the nest, but roll back up when they want to take a deep breath and smell the daisies so to speak.
I write in my study, which overlooks the garden and the lane. I'm often seen procrastinating, by checking out the wild life, looking—only looking—at the ironing basket and assuring tourists that indeed, I'm not the bed and breakfast. That would mean cooking fried eggs without breaking the yolks, and disturbing the dust bunnies as they procreate under the beds. Not to be thought of.
Being able to do what I love, and knowing people get pleasure from my writing is fantastic. Long may it last.
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